Grown Accustomed to Her Face
by Dobby's Socks
Summary: After the events of "Day of the Moon", the Doctor must grapple with why he asked along the mysterious River Song, and whether or not it bothers him that she turned him down. Oh, and that kiss. No spoilers unless you haven't watched through the Season Six opener, Doctor/River and mentions of Amy/Rory, rated for minor suggestiveness and one swear, title taken from "My Fair Lady"


**So this one is set shortly after the events of "Day of the Moon". I know, I tend to like doing these season five, early season six stories, but I couldn't resist after Kermit's Rainbow Connection happened to mention to me that the song "I've Grown Accustomed to Her Face" from My Fair Lady reminds her of the 11****th**** Doctor and River. Naturally, I had to write something. So, while this is not strictly a songfic, you might want to listen to the actual song as the title and some themes have been drawn from it. I'm not saying it completely matches up (Higgins is a bit more harsh than our favorite Time Lord, for instance), but I think it's a fun little comparison. Enjoy!**

**Dobby's Polka-Dotted Sock**

**Grown Accustomed to Her Face**

Amy and Rory had begged off adventures for the evening, stating that they were both too tired. Understandable considering Amy had only just been rescued from the Silence and Rory had been going spare with worrying until that time. They were only human, but 'only' wasn't being fair to them. The Ponds were the first pair he'd been able to successfully bring along with him for an extended period of time with no awkward tension lingering around the group. Both unique, amazing, and so very helpful in their own ways, they were everything he could ask for in companions and more. And yet still he'd felt the need to ask…

The Doctor growled to himself as he switched off the seemingly malfunctioning pregnancy scan of his redheaded friend. He'd have to simply puzzle over that when he could properly concentrate. But that was ridiculous, he was on his own, no one to bother or distract him. And yet he couldn't seem to get his thoughts in order.

Perhaps he was disoriented. After all, he'd spent the last few months surrounded by people, whether the guards at Area 51, Richard Nixon, the Ponds, Canton…River.

"River," he muttered to himself. Glancing about the empty console room once or twice, he shook his head. Surely it was just the lack of any company that was messing with his focus. If the Ponds were here right now he'd know exactly what to do, where to go, he'd have no troubles. But they were off asleep, like they'd had to do many times over the course of their trip to America.

And how many times had River been there with a soft word or just her quiet presence, sitting up with him late into the night? "The woman probably doesn't even sleep," he remarked to himself, fiddling absently with some knob or other on the console. No need just to sit in the Vortex, not like he was waiting on some call for where to go. There were plenty of things for him to do or see even on his own, and he didn't need anyone's permission to do so. Keeping busy was what he needed right now, not sitting in an empty room with nothing but his muddled thoughts hanging about him.

The ship rattled more violently than usual suddenly, and the Doctor blinked before racing around to the other side in a panic. He'd forgotten to pull down the directional pointer as he'd been making less full circuits around the controls lately. Another pilot on board had meant only having to do half the work.

"Rookie mistake," he admonished himself sternly once he'd regained control of the flight, running a hand through his hair. "You've got to do it all yourself, you know that." He wouldn't have had to, had she said yes.

Had that been his motivation? A bit of laziness, perhaps a sense of appreciation for her understanding of the ship, even if he had no idea yet how she had that information? If that were the case, though, he could simply buy some cybernetic device off the Maldovar market that had a basic understanding of twelve-dimensional quantum physics. Yet the idea did not appeal to him.

So it had to be something else that had made him ask River. He didn't ask just anyone, either, and so clearly it was something about her in particular. That left him a shorter list than he usually had concerning prospective companions as there were still so many unknowns, and yet each time they met he added more and more to it.

What was it that interested him about River? Was it purely the mystery about her, the spoilers and hints she dangled tantalizingly before his eyes, always just out of reach? Really, she said he was bad with keeping secrets about their timelines, but at least he wasn't some tease!

No, he'd done the opposite of teasing right here in this room. He could hear the echo of his cold tone, harsher than the slap she'd given him as he claimed he couldn't trust her. Louder to his ears and memory, though, was the tremble to her voice as she'd held her ground against him, doing her best to give nothing away both in the way of information or her own feelings.

The Doctor closed his eyes, massaging the bridge of his nose as he slumped into the pilot's chair. It was the anonymous TARDIS blue envelop he'd gotten and a sense that they were all hiding something huge from him that had had him on edge, not her. He hadn't meant to do that, least of all because it wasn't even true. From the day he'd met her, she hadn't left him a choice; he had to trust her. Did it matter that more and more he was feeling it less of an obligation, and more of his own willingness to do so?

"And I tried to make it up to her," he reasoned aloud, not really to anybody. His head dropped glumly to rest in his hand, the arm of which was braced on one knee. "Not my fault she said no."

Had that been why she'd refused? Because she'd felt he was just offering as a way of apology? But guilt hadn't made him ask Jack along after meeting the immortal man again, guilt hadn't made him ask Martha to stay and promise to treat her right. He didn't ask people out of guilt.

So what was it about _River_? It should be easy to just answer this question and move on. He'd puzzled out the unsolvable riddles and most intricate problems of the universe! Surely he could decide on some silly little quirk or quality the woman had that had got his attention.

She'd certainly gotten a response from him through words, which had surprised no one more than himself. He'd been finding it easier this regeneration to just let a bit loose with his quips and motions, but the _tone_ they always seemed to take on when he glanced her way. It was like she transformed him into something of her own design, and he couldn't find it in him to complain.

The woman even managed it when he couldn't see her! He felt a tingle up and down his spine just thinking back on the feel of her back to back with him, surrounded by Silents and yet he hadn't had a care in the world. The tickle of her hair against his neck, the smooth slide of her voice on its up and down inflections, and the very _scent_ of her wafting over his shoulder to his nose had proven a far more palatable study.

And still that unmistakable fragrance lingered in the air of the console room she'd only recently vacated. The Doctor leapt up and flipped a switch, powering the vents up. He obviously needed a clearer head. After a moment, he shut it back off, not wishing to inadvertently disturb his sleeping passengers. It remained, though, that sweet but heady scent, just a trace.

"She's an archeologist, she's in prison, she _died_," he ground out through his teeth, stomping back around to the monitor which he turned on and then off again pointlessly. It was a needed reminder, just a sharp rebuke to get him back on track.

He didn't much care for archeologists, usually. And yet for all he still laughed at them, she made it seem far less silly an occupation, becoming an active part of both the history and its telling. And there was no counting how many times he'd been in prison, for a whole host of reasons. The murder charge was hardly something for him to take umbrage to, either, and he'd already admitted to more than himself that her guns did not bother him one bit. As for the last, well…they'd have to cross that bridge when they came to it.

Could he cry right now if he was told he had to take her to the Singing Towers this very night? _Should_ he?

Maybe he shouldn't be trying to interfere in her life at all. Apparently she had more important things to do than go traveling with him, like carrying out a prison sentence that she was perfectly fine with flouting on every other occasion.

"'A promise'—ha!" He huffed to himself, vaulting over the railing to the lower level. So she said he would understand some day, well maybe he didn't want to. Maybe sticking to their separate lives was better. She seemed to think so.

But then Dr. River Song had kissed him. Truly, properly kissed him with a skill and ease that made his hearts stutter at the thought that such expertise required frequent practice. Likely practice she'd gotten drugging guards or with her Auton boyfriend or the Android one, the Doctor told himself, crouching down to rifle through a box of supplies. He chose to ignore the fact that she'd known exactly where to place her hands, how high she had to rise up on her toes to claim his lips, and the perfect tilt of her head to line up with his rather angular features. Because then he had to think about how _nice_ it had felt.

Why had she kissed him? Really, it only made things so much more complicated. If she had to turn him down—and his pathetic entreaty for her to call him wasn't something he wanted to dwell on, either—wouldn't it have been better to do so and leave it at that? Instead, she'd behaved as though this was some normal ritual at their every parting.

The Doctor blinked, having gotten through the entire box and not finding what he'd been looking for. He'd been so sure they were here—but then he remembered he'd already asked Rory to bring the thermo-couplings up to the console. Sure enough, upon bounding back up the stairs he saw them lying on a panel. How could she take up so much space in his mind that he'd forgotten something only so recent?

And really, their every parting? That made it sound as if such a thing were a regular occurrence. Yet she'd been popping up with increasing regularity, never quite predictable, but he'd found himself not completely surprised to see her standing there in that diner with Amy and Rory. That he'd been more than a little pleased, too, was a fact that made him stop inserting the thermo-couplings in order to groan in frustration.

It was a dangerous progression. He'd definitely been frustrated with the woman upon meeting her at the Library, then was stunned upon rejoining with her at the Crash of the Byzantium, which transformed into a half-hearted exasperation at her antics to get him to Stonehenge that then transitioned into something more of a comfortable familiarity as they worked to make the Big Bang Two happen, and now he was pleased? What was next? More kissing?

There had certainly been more than enough flirting between them to go around over the course of their endeavor to 1969. That he had it in him to engage in this had been a discovery in itself, but he'd had quite a bit of time to develop such a newfound skill with her.

Time! Perhaps therein lay the answer. He couldn't seem to pick one particular thing about River that had interested him enough to ask her along with them; her confident yet sure attitude, her proficiency in fighting or defending, the way she always moved with an almost catlike grace tinged with a sensuality impossible for even him to miss, her seemingly boundless cleverness, the enigmatic light to her eyes when she held some secret that both unnerved and excited him at once, the fullness of her lips especially when curved into her signature smirk or an even softer smile, the cloud of curls that framed her elegant features, the paleness of her skin that spoke of extended periods spent indoors or the tanned glow it got under the sun, the clothes she wore that accented her already generous curves and drew the eye no matter who else was in the room, her scent, her touch, her voice, her kiss. All these things added up to create the person that was River Song, whoever she was, and the Doctor could not even try to remove just one part in some explanation of why he had invited her to continue traveling with him and the Ponds.

But time proved again to be the key. Three months and a little extra they'd spent battling the Silence side by side and clearly, as it often happened, he'd gotten attached. Attached to the idea that she would simply always be there to help pilot the TARDIS, fire a smart and perhaps slightly suggestive retort right back at him, and soundly defeat their enemies together. He was used to her now, having been so long in her company. That was all.

And maybe they weren't as serious as Professor Song had made him believe. River's rejection could have always been her way of rebuffing his more overzealous affections before they got too out of hand, letting him step back and think over what he was doing. The Doctor had always been content wandering the universe without these kinds of entanglements before, he could do so again. She was merely a wild card that popped up every so often to trouble him, old fool that she made him out to be by luring him into her flirty game with her little names—and why had he never objected to something so ridiculous? He wasn't her Sweetie, he wasn't anyone's Sweetie, and so a simple 'hello' should more than suffice. Yet the words were wrapped up in each other, so much so that he could hardly imagine her saying anything else to him in greeting. He'd have to content himself now with the recollection of her voice as she said them, not knowing when they might next cross paths.

"'You watch us run'," he mocked with a roll of his eyes. Well, she could watch him run off and away on adventures without her if she was so intent on staying in prison. Really, who wanted to stay in prison? Just another thing to add to her intrigue, that mysteriousness that had drawn him in.

But she was just a woman, unusual or not. There had been plenty of women in his life before, and no doubt would be again. He didn't need her in particular. So what if he'd grown used to her being around? There was nothing wrong with him having fallen into habit with her, being swept up in her comforting spontaneity and madness, so similar and still delightfully different to his own. But that was something that could, and should, be fixed. Some time apart would do wonders for him, he was sure. Even if he looked up on occasion to share some interesting reading the TARDIS had picked up that only she would understand, only to find her not there. Even if he was resisting the urge to go back to Stormcage and see if he could try at the kissing thing again and do better, so that she didn't look so stricken as he'd left.

The changes in her mood he was picking up on with greater familiarity; he could read her tells now, and start to guess at what she must be thinking or feeling. His own thoughts, or dare he say feelings, were still up in the air. He hated to see her upset and he was inexorably glad when she was happy, especially if he was the cause of her high spirits. The gratitude he felt for the sacrifice she had yet to make was limitless while it was the anger at her uncooperativeness that was instead dwindling.

And he'd been just as complicit this time, too, in entangling them. True, the archeologist did have a rather obvious He's-Hot-When-He's-Clever face, but then she wouldn't have been the first. And moreover, he'd never felt the need to point it out. Still he'd been more thrilled about it than anyone else's in quite some time, because as much as she could berate him and mock him and leave him with more questions than he thought it was worth, she was right: it was her normal face. And he'd loved seeing it every chance he got these three months.

"Damn," the Doctor sighed as he aimlessly pulled another lever, some small part of the back of his brain privately admitting what the rest of him steadfastly refused to believe. It would not be so easy to let this feeling, this attachment, fade, whether he did not see River Song for a month or a century.

For it wasn't the face he had grown accustomed to. It was _her_ face.

**Right so, bit random this one, not to mention a little behind the times in terms of cannon. I hope it was a fun read, though, because I think it can be fun now and then to go back to a time when the characters didn't know everything that they and we do now in order to examine their thoughts and such in hindsight. Plus it's just an excuse for me to keep writing Doctor/River. Anyway I'll just put this one up for you guys to read; thanks for stopping by, and please review!**


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